


Peach Pits

by sharkiesketches



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Coping, Dream Smp, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Moving On, Multi, Not Beta Read, Platonic Life Partners, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Soulmates, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28578072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkiesketches/pseuds/sharkiesketches
Summary: A peach pit sits on the counter top.Or: a way to move on.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 59





	Peach Pits

A peach pit sits on the counter top.

It’s nothing more than it’s name. A small spherical object, ribbed and covered in indentations. Outside coarse, but slightly damp from resting in yellow-orange flesh. Inside sleeps a child, protected from nature’s wrath, wrapped up in warmth, loved by it’s bearer. Protected. 

This process is cruel. The pair will be placed in the ground, laid to rest after it’s journey, except they’re not allowed to sleep. They keep working, even in the shallow grave they now inhabit. Sometimes the earth around them will freeze, leaving them shivering against the cold. Other times, they will be damp and warm, encompassing the pair in a humid embrace. Through this, they work. Collecting and storing energy, they grow down, sapping nutrients from the ground. 

When the weather outside turns, they shoot up to the surface. They grow rapidly, leaving their home in the ground, sprouting leaves and constructing limbs from the minerals in the earth. Light, filtering through their pores, energizing them and allowing expansion. They build, and build, creating an intricate palace of limbs and embellishments until they have nowhere left to go. 

They don’t stop. 

They keep working, keep collecting, keep storing, until it starts to overflow. Tiny buds of energy burst, fresh folds of skin emerging. They are delicate, soft from their time spent sheltered inside, emulating yards of silk woven in the most lavish gowns. 

Eventually, it tears after the world’s abuse. Dainty blooms become marescent, hanging limp from the branches, broken and discolored. They dangle off the limbs like a child hanging off their parent until their grip slackens, and they slowly start to slip. The ground becomes a graveyard for the little floret heads, stripped of their youth.

The still attached carcasses begin to shift. They begin to expand and thicken, thriving now that their petals have been stripped.    
  
They grow.

And grow. 

And grow.

Until they are plucked. 

It’s silly, but he still feels guilty, tearing into the flesh of the fruit. It has experienced the life it was intended to, it has suffered, it has grown, it flourished until the moment it was harvested.

_ This is part of the cycle _ , his mind supplies.  _ It doesn’t end here _ . 

He picks up the pit, cradling it in his calloused hand. 

Boots tap against the stone floor as he makes his way out the back door. Blades of grass flattening under the worn soles. 

Kneeling in the field, he hollowed out a hole with his hand. The earth was still damp from that morning’s rain, petrichor filling his lungs. 

He brought the pit up to his lips, whispering private words before gently placing it in the ground and covering it with the damp soil. 

Rising from his role, Dream’s gaze fell to the labyrinth of trees that filled the area. Their roots intertwined under the sod the same way lovers held hands. 

In the center of the orchard stood two monuments, modest and worn by years of weather. The inscriptions were faded, but if someone were to study the surface they could make out the words. Cracks in the stone filled by moss and foliage. 

A watery smile graced his lips as coupled voices breathed into his ear.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


_ You’re allowed to grow too.  _

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry. 
> 
> Honestly this isn't even what I intended on writing. I was just venting in a doc and it turned into this. 
> 
> Anyways I hope you at least enjoyed this even if it was sad.
> 
> I'm not entirely solid where this takes place myself. I'd like to think that this is a long time after the Dream SMP, when all the wars are over and most (if not all) of the original characters are gone. Dream as the immortal deity of the SMP, he lived with George and Sapnap for the rest of their mortal lives, staying with them in their old age and long past their deaths. I want this to be the first time Dream learned how to love like humans do. 
> 
> I might tie this into the new lore from The Tales of the SMP (Karl's stream) but I'm not exactly sure yet. If I do I'll make a collection for it and it will probably be short pieces like this one. 
> 
> Please let me know what you think about this,  
> Have a wonderful day/night! :]
> 
> \- Sharkie


End file.
